


Wash Me Throughly

by thequidditchpitch_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Drama, Erotica, Explicit Sexual Content, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Romance, Slash, The Quidditch Pitch: The Changing Room
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-04-17
Updated: 2006-04-17
Packaged: 2018-10-26 15:18:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10789299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thequidditchpitch_archivist/pseuds/thequidditchpitch_archivist
Summary: Two years after the War is over, Remus serves as caretaker for Ron while purging an unexpectedly-inflicted curse from the younger man. Ron finds that he may be grateful to Remus for more than just his healer's abilities, but will he garner the nerve to say anything?





	Wash Me Throughly

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).

  
Author's notes: The title is taken from the anthem by Samuel Sebastian Wesley, text from Psalm 51, vv. 2-3:  


_Wash me throughly from my wickedness, and forgive me all my sin.  
For I acknowledge my faults and my sin is ever before me._

It also happens to be one of my top-20 Anglican anthems, which I enjoyed singing many times at Sewanee.

Written as a giftfic for Matildabishop. Merry Christmas, 2005!!

* * *

Ron flew fast and free, mouth open as though to taste the tang of autumn suffused in the air. It was perfect flying weather, and his muscles sang in their physicality, manouevering his broom over the forest below him. The area gave off an aura of malevolence; no surprise, as it was the site of the last battle in what was now simply called The Great War. Ron had been there in the thick of the nightmare, however, and perhaps out of deference the ghostly cries no longer held sway over him. At least not when he was awake.

It had been a long, tedious week at the Ministry, and flying remained the most effective cure for most of Ron's ills or moods. Seeing as how there wasn't anyone at his flat to chastise him for staying out, he'd been flying through the evening until the moon began to rise. A gnawing in his stomach prompted him reluctantly to head back toward home. He attempted a Truslow Turnover with at least a smidgen of finesse before his sixth sense kicked in to warn him about an unseen danger, but it was too late. Ron slammed into a Dark Magical force in the air, and fell toward the ground, screaming.

Thankfully, he missed many branches as he was pulled to the earth. Nearer to the ground, he crashed forcefully into an outlying limb, hearing a sickening crack as his body hit it. Through a red haze of pain, Ron tried to grasp hold of the cold bark, rubbing his face against his shoulder to clear his eyes. His muscles railed against the demand. Fire burned in his veins; a rotten stench overwhelmed him and he gagged. Heaving, he looked down, the nearly-silenced rational sliver of his mind screaming that it was too far to drop.

With a shudder, he let go.

* * * * *

How many days had it been? Ron didn't know anymore. He flitted in and out of consciousness, dragging himself along the leaf-littered ground inch by excruciating inch to a small stream. With the arm that wasn't broken, he cupped some of the cold liquid and drank, his shredded survival instincts demanding he do so. He coughed, sending a cascade of knife jabs through his chest, echoed in his throbbing tailbone.

In those moments when he was awake, the pain sometimes overwhelmed him so that he choked and dry heaved; yet it was nothing compared to the unbearable need to be clean. From the marrow in his bones to the ends of his stringy hair, he felt utterly vile. He licked at the water droplets on his palm, spasming in revulsion. _Dirty. Polluted. Filthy._

Through cracked lips, Ron panted an inaudible plea for help. His wand had been lost in the fall, he hadn't told anyone where he'd gone before he went flying, and given the slack in the Sports Ethics department, Ron could go missing for several days before anyone would get worried.

The black of unawareness encroached tenderly on him as he scratched at the bloody scabs on his arm, trying to scrape off the skin. His ragged fingernails pulled at the oozing sores until with a moan, he passed into unconsciousness.

* * * * *

Soothing noises burbled at the edge of Ron's understanding. He let the sounds drift toward him, content to hover outside of his corporeal self. Maybe he had died and he'd gone wherever it was that one went next. The murmurings fuzzily manifested themselves as voices, but they were kind, so Ron didn't resist as he neared consciousness, easing into that state as though breaking through the surface of water into air.

The voices halted.

"I believe he's back with us. Ron? Can you hear me?"

Ron tried to communicate silently, but after sensing that was ineffective, with tremendous effort he opened his eyes. It took several moments for the halo of light to subside so he could focus on the individual poised above him.

_"Lupin?"_ Ron mouthed.

A relieved smile settled on the correctly named man's face.

Ron's euphoric realisation that he wasn't dead crashed into a bilious wall of wretchedness. Mounting waves of feeling defiled careened through him and he tried to thrash against it, but he was held immobile. Ron's panic must have shown in his eyes because Lupin leaned over and began talking quietly to him.

"Ron. It's okay."

_Hell's harpies it is,_ Ron raged silently, now all too aware of his surroundings. He was chained up to something, trapped in St. Mungo's. He had to escape, go back to his stream to clean himself somehow, get rid of the disgusting —

"You're suffering from an _Impuratus_ curse, Ron. We needed to restrain you."

_Impuratus._ Ron struggled to absorb the ramifications of that pronouncement.

"We've pieced together that you must have flown into an undetonated Death Eater mine. Bill and I went back and combed the area once we had you safely here. Inexplicably, there were two others that had been missed after the post-battle purgings. I'm so sorry; the torment inflicted with this curse is particularly malicious."

"Clean," Ron said, his voice gravelly with disuse.

"Remus will take care of that," Molly said soothingly, moving into Ron's line of sight. "While Arthur and I were on holiday, I had this horrible thought that something had happened to one of you, and Remus figured out you'd gone missing. He found you only a few hours after I owled him."

Ron's addled mind chased the important pieces of information like a duck after tossed bits of bread. "Water. Need to wash," he said as emphatically as he could.

"Breaking this curse takes time," Lupin said solemnly. "With your mother's permission, I'm going to take you to the house my aunt used to live in. It's very isolated, out in the Hebrides. The _Impuratus_ is old, and nefariously complex in that it affects both the body and the spirit. I've been doing a lot of research, though, and I have every faith that I'll be able to remove it." A rueful expression overtook his sharp features. "This may sound like cold comfort, but being a werewolf, I've had a lifetime of feeling impure. Don't surrender to it, Ron." 

Half of what Lupin was saying made no sense to Ron, but he understood the gist of the message. "When do we go?" he croaked.

Lupin glanced to Molly, who nodded brusquely. Lupin turned back toward Ron. The determination on his former professor's face was both unnerving and yet made him want to sag with relief. 

"Momentarily."

As the few visitors left the room, Ron noticed that his mother hadn't touched him. Was he contagious? The answer came quickly when Lupin, without warning, eased his lanky frame into the bed next to Ron. Long fingers swept a bit of fringe out of Ron's eyes and he shivered at the contact, sure that Lupin would be repulsed at how grimy he must feel. 

"You're too weak to Apparate on your own, so I'm going to take both of us," Lupin explained. "I'll remove the bindings at your ankles and wrists and although it may be very painful, I must ask that you hold on to me."

Ron groaned at the injustice of his situation: yes, he was a half-arsed Ministry employee, temperamental and selfish lover (so he'd been told), and, consequently, usually content loner. But he was also a medaled War veteran and fiercely loyal to his surviving friends and family. How could he have managed to fly into a two-year-old languishing Death Eater trap, which had rendered him helpless and clutching for dear life to a fellow Order member and former professor? He succumbed to the usual sense of jolting turmoil as they Apparated, soothed by the anchoring of Lupin's strong arms around him even though the actual contact was agony. He found himself in a wide bed, and unable to bear the feeling of being touched, Ron struggled to be let loose.

"Ron, I know this will seem undignified and maybe even cruel, but I'm going to need to restrain you again, just for a little while until I can get some water prepared for your initial cleansing. Do you still feel the desire to scratch at your own skin? "

Ron nodded. Resigned, he lay docile as Lupin let go of him long enough to cast a binding spell on his wrists. "What day is it?" he asked dully, no longer resisting the self-loathing and revulsion inflicted by the curse.

"Friday." Remus sat on the edge of the bed, his gaze thoughtful. "I've been told you've become rather solitary by nature, but I think in these early stages of healing, it would be good for you to remain in my company. Are you up to that?"

"Do I have a choice?"

"Most certainly."

The intensity of colour in Lupin's gold-flecked eyes was disconcerting. He also seemed to blink half as often as a regular person, and the combination of the two gave Remus an aura of uncanny perception. Breathing deeply, Ron stared into the man's face, finding himself overwhelmed by gratitude.

"I'd wanted to die," Ron confessed. "And it's not much better now." For the first time since he'd regained consciousness, he looked down at his clothes.

"But it will be." Lupin reached out a hand and ran his thumb along the plain fabric. "The cloths have been spelled to limit your tactile sensitivity. We needed to immerse you in some powerful regenerative balms." He lifted his gaze and Ron looked up at him. "You did quite a number on yourself. I was going to warn you before I take you to the tub, but you should know that you'll have a few more scars."

"I'm not… deformed, am I?" Scars Ron could handle, but after surviving the War with his body parts intact, he couldn't bear the thought of being disfigured at this juncture.

"No. Let's go ahead and go to the bathroom and you can see for yourself."

Ron sat up awkwardly and swung his legs over the bed before Lupin helped him to his feet.

"I'd like for you to be as comfortable as possible," Remus said as they walked down a narrow corridor. "Do you mind if I pull your hair back?"

"Yes. I mean, no." The malignancy of the curse and Ron’s true wishes battled each other. "Right now anything touching me is awful. Normally I love having my hair played with, actually." Ron snorted in derision. "Merlin, I sound like such a bloody girl."

"Are you always so hard on yourself, or is that an effect of the _Impuratus_?"

"Dunno." Ron thought for a moment, watching Lupin turn on the taps of an old porcelain tub, then tapping the spigot until steam rose from the cascading water. "I guess so; I don't seem to be able to get much right, that means anything, anyway. The blokes I've seen didn't feel like staying around me for long." He snapped his head up and saw Lupin's contemplative expression.  
  


"Um, you did know that I favour…" Ron's voice trailed off.

"Yes. You're in good company," Lupin said warmly. "Yet another experience you and I have in common."

Perhaps due to Lupin's obvious empathy, Ron began feeling even worse. He couldn't bear the thought of potentially defiling such an earnest, well-meaning person.

"I hope you're not overly modest," Lupin went on, eyeing the tub as it filled. "I'll need to wash you, and I'll have to be thorough. Once I've made some headway, you'll be able to clean yourself."

Ron couldn't suppress a shudder of revulsion. It wasn't the thought of Lupin touching him, as he found himself yearning for the comfort the man passed on through his hands. Ron continued to feel utterly vile, as though even his thoughts were tainted. A sickening churning stirred in his stomach.

"Let's get on with it," he pleaded, holding his joined wrists to Lupin, begging succor.

"There are just a few things I need to prepare, and then we can begin."

Ron's shoulders sagged. "Okay," he mumbled, focusing his attentions on the water. "Why'd you sign on for this job? You've got heaps to do at that new library."

The noise of tumbling water ceased, and quiet settled into the warm room.

"I care about you, Ron. And I do have a background in the Dark Arts, as you'll remember."

Remus moved to stand behind Ron. He brushed through Ron's shoulder-length hair before gently pulling it into a ponytail. The vapour above the water captured Ron's gaze. For the love of Merlin he wanted not to feel like this anymore.

"May I get in?" he pleaded as Remus placed the brush on the nearby sink. "After you get these clothes off?"

Lupin nodded, casting a spell so that Ron stood nude, and dreadfully exposed. He glanced at his arms, seeing the inflamed, gouged tracks where he'd mauled at his skin.

"They'll fade," Lupin reassured him as Ron gingerly stepped into the bathtub, resting his elbows in Lupin's palms for balance while he sank into the water.

"Not that anyone'll be looking at them besides me for a while anyway," Ron said ruefully. "And you."

"I'll survive." A smile twitched at the corner of Lupin's mouth.

Lupin began chanting, his voice a surprising rich baritone. Closing his eyes, Ron sat in the hot water, beginning to relax as he basked in the soothing sounds. The words themselves were foreign, but the magic in them was powerful and wholesome. After some time, the room fell hushed again. Ron opened his eyes and saw that Lupin appeared to be holding a glowing light in his hands.

"I don't wish to speak too much about this now, as this magic is most effective in an atmosphere of respectful silence. But I wanted to warn you that while I should be able to eventually remove your curse, there will be additional pain in the process. You've peeled an onion, haven't you?"

"Too many to count." The feelings of being foul and loathsome prodded at his consciousness, as though to resist the salve Lupin carried to the tub.

"Over time we'll be removing the _Impuratus,_ layer by layer. It's had several days to delve deeply, burrowing into your magic on many levels. Washing it away will not be a picnic."

"Doesn't matter," Ron sulked.

"It does to me," Lupin murmured, dipping his hands below the water's surface. "This is love magic; agape magic," he clarified, leaning back to retrieve a washcloth. "The love of a friend, or a companion. A brother, if you prefer."

Tension built up in Ron's nerves, making his skin over-sensitive, but he remained still except for a short nod to indicate he'd been listening. Through gestures, Ron moved when he needed to so that Remus could bathe every inch of him. Oddly, the only time Ron felt embarrassed was when the older man gently rubbed at his face. The gesture seemed far more intimate even than Lupin's careful cleansing of Ron's flaccid penis. The bathing process did hurt, though not physically. His emotions and spirit felt chafed and raw, and quite inadvertently, tears formed in his eyes. One salty track slid down his cheek, but Lupin let it remain.

His ablutions complete, Remus wrung out the cloth and pulled out a phial from a trouser pocket. "Regenerative potion," he explained, pouring several drops into the cooling bath. "We've got to keep an eye on your body's healing as well. You must have hit several branches after you fell off of your broom."

"I did," Ron said, sniffling just slightly.

"Does your skin feel clean enough that you think you won't scratch at it?"

Lupin tentatively stroked a warm finger against the inside of Ron's elbow. Ron evaluated his response; there was still a very strong tension in that the curse made him feel repellant, but being touched no longer initiated the urge to gag. The insane thought patterns that he could rid himself of his filth by raking at his flesh had also subsided.

"I'm not sure, but I think so."

Ron hadn't felt so vulnerable since Dumbledore's death. The great wizard's murder had brought Ron's own mortality and sense of fallibility to the fore. This experience, however, naked and slave to a force maliciously working against any purity of thought, was devastating and humbling. Not to mention terrifying. 

"I’ll go ahead and free your wrists. Why don’t you soak for a few more minutes, then I suggest we go to the living room and enjoy a fire and some Oban.”

Ron lolled his head on the porcelain, looking questioningly at Remus.

“Scotch. For all our magic, the wizarding world can’t seem to create anything as uniquely peaty and potent as a Muggle single malt.”

“Right. I’d be glad to join you in that.”

“I thought you might.” Remus turned around and cast a heating charm on a folded towel placed on the toilet lid. “Do you think you might be up to telling me what all you remember?”

"Yeah. Let me get vertical first."

Ron rubbed his thumbs against the pads of his fingers, feeling their raisiny texture from having soaked so long. With some effort, he pushed himself up out of the tub and accepted a proffered warm towel then a pair of warm pyjamas. Soon he padded behind Remus to the living room and sank bonelessly into an uncompromising chair. He had to fidget a bit, but eventually Ron found a comfortable lounging posture, nestled in the nook of its arm, his legs splayed and the soles of his feet arched toward the fire.

"I'm glad I found you." Remus handed a tumbler to Ron.

"I'm glad you did, too," Ron said fervently, watching as Remus lowered himself into an ancient recliner. "Cheers."

They raised their glasses and sipped the potent contents. The fire's crackles seemed subdued, as though mirroring the mood of the room's occupants.

"So what were you doing at the battleground?" Remus asked, his thumb and forefinger cradled against his temple. The simple gesture bafflingly threatened to unhinge Ron's reserve. He was never this emotional; it must be the curse.

"Flying."

Remus looked patiently at him with nearly-unblinking eyes. "Yes, we'd pretty much figured that out."

After a deep draught of scotch, Ron filled in the details of the evening and his patchy memories of the days following. A subsequent rumbling in Ron's stomach refocused him on the present.

"I'm famished," he said apologetically. "Mind if I root around your pantry?"

"No, no," Lupin said, rising out of his chair and striding into the kitchen. Quite unintentionally, Ron's gaze was captured by the older man's cardigan, pine green and somehow accenting Remus' graceful wrists. "I'm hungry too. Give me a few minutes and I'll fashion something edible. I hope."

Ron snickered and sagged against the firm back of his chair. For the first time in ages he didn't feel a suffocating need to escape. Despite his still-festering trauma and Remus' insistent presence, Ron was inexplicably comfortable. He felt only a shadow of shame when Lupin had to nudge him awake to present him with their simple dinner, which Ron ate with fervour.

As he got under the covers of the bed he'd Apparated into mere hours before, Ron noticed Remus transforming a small bookcase into a cot.

"There's plenty of room for both of us," Ron said, shifting so he was against the edge of the mattress. "I don't mind, and nobody's said that I kick."

Remus finished tucking in a woolen blanket before standing up. "I don't intend to impose on you, Ron. As I've said before, I know that you're fairly solitary, as am I."

Chastened, and scrabbling back to the comfort of his usual nature, Ron backpedaled. "Too right. Well, good-night, then." He lay on his back, willing himself to sleep, which of course, did not happen. An hour passed, then another. Apparently Lupin didn't suffer insomnia, as he appeared to drift off as soon as he was situated on his spartan bed. Feelings of being horrid and disgusting wove deft, constricting webs in Ron's thoughts until finally he left his cozy haven, skulking back to the living room. He sought out the bottle of Oban and poured himself a full glass. Several swallows later Ron tried to focus on the iridescent glow of the logs in the fireplace before deciding that he needed to read something. A bit unsteadily he shuffled over to a mouldering stack of magazines and tugged off the top one to accompany him into the stiff chair he'd sat in earlier. He collapsed in it and flipped a few pages, settling on an article on possible mutinies within the Gringotts banking system, something sure to put him swiftly to sleep. The words stood on the page, an unchanging literary convoy his eyes passed over, again and again. 

_Damn all bloody hell._

The magazine was tossed onto a nearby moss-coloured sofa. Ron wrenched out of the chair and stalked quietly back to his room. He hovered in the doorframe, looking down at Remus while waiting for his eyes to adjust. It occurred to him that he had precious little left in regards to pride, and anything remaining could be resurrected later. Right now, he craved company, and while it probably had everything to do with the friendship magic being invoked to cure his curse, he didn't really care.

"Remus."

The word scraped more loudly against the quiet than Ron had intended.

"Yes?"

There was a rustling as Remus eased himself up on his elbows.

"Do you mind… I mean…"

"Ron. We're dealing with powerful magic. You don't need to excuse-"

"Please."

Remus yawned, rubbing at his stubbled jaw as an afterthought. "Do you prefer to sleep on your right side or your left?"

* * * * *

The days meandered on, dusky and cold, but not without humour. His cleansing ritual was performed daily, complimented by a bi-weekly journey by bus down to Stornoway for food and basic human interaction. By the fourth day, Ron was able to enact the process himself, once Remus had conjured the needed purifying spell. Ron decided that Remus was by far the most tolerable companion he'd ever lived with, every member of his family included. They continued to share a bed at Ron's request, though it remained solely fraternal, much like the occasions when Ron had been forced to sleep with Fred and George when company visited.

He suffered a setback or two, and had to have his wrists bound again until the urge for self-mutilation passed. After a fortnight, Ron asked for permission and took his leave to walk the few miles to the Butt of Lewis. A rogue dog became his unasked-for companion and joined him as he trudged through some sand dunes to the buffeted stretch of land at the top of the island. Wiping grains of sand from his eyes, he focused on the blackening sky over the ocean. A series of images of Remus around the house, reading or writing correspondence or putting together a meal circled through Ron's mind. He really had come to crave Remus' company. The desire for companionship had grown to encompass their conversations and shared comfortable silence, but also the way Remus rested his hip against the sink when he brushed his teeth, and his tendency to walk barefoot which put his long, elegant toes on display. With the subtlety of being hit by a Bludger, Ron realised that he was beginning to fancy his caretaker.

"What am I supposed to do about Remus?" he asked his canine friend, who frolicked nearby with no regard to Ron's distress. "I don't know if it's him, or what he's doing. And I bloody well can't ask him; how embarrassing would that be?" 

Ron tried to analyse their interactions outside of the curse removal and couldn't find any indications whatsoever that Remus saw him as anything other than a young man who happened to be a former student and integral combatant in the Great War. His affections seemed to be completely platonic, which only discombobulated Ron more as he wasn't sure whether or not he wanted to be able to act on his burgeoning feelings. He watched the dog rush off to the surf and come back, tongue hanging out and obviously having a wonderful time. Despite himself, Ron smiled wanly in return, rubbing the dog's wet head.

"Let's go back," he suggested as pellets of cold rain began pummeling him and he realised that he'd left his wand at the cottage. "As slowly and wetly as possible."

The despairing laugh simmered up despite Ron's wish to suppress it. 

* * * * *

Remus placed the luminous magic in the water for what Ron now considered his daily scouring, gave Ron a warm smile, and turned to leave him.

“How will I know I’m cured?” Ron burst out suddenly, ignoring the usual moratorium on speech during the cleaning process. “Not that I’m anxious to leave; I just feel nearly like myself again.”

Remus tilted his head. “I’ll cast an _illuminous_ on you after this cleansing, but I believe you’re correct; the curse seems to have been worn mostly away.”

“A what?” Ron began perfunctorily washing at his feet until he felt Remus’ hand on his shoulder.

“ _Illuminous_. Take your time, Ron,” he said, his voice unintentionally as intoxicating as the scotch they shared each evening. “Be thorough, even here at the end. We’ll speak more when you’re finished.”

Ron watched Remus leave. With a shallow sigh, he sank into the bath. It was wearing, wanting someone while enmeshed in a fog of unreciprocity and uncertain motivations. Was it only the powerful connection of being immersed in Remus’ created magic that made the older man so desirable? Ron knew that his attraction wasn’t simply fraternal, but neither was it solely lust.

_Get some bollocks, Ron,_ he goaded himself. _Just ask him about possible counter-effects, or if you really want to know, ask him if he’s shagging someone._

Even thinking the last part of that sentence unleashed a flood of suppressed erotic wishes all having to do with Remus and his imagined skilled hands and tongue. Mindful of the healing infusion in the water, Ron tended to his bathing, steering his thoughts as best as he could to innocuous visuals: snow fields, clear, bottomless lakes, and the like. Once he stepped out of the tub, however, he shut the door. With intensity equal to his bathing, for the first time since he’d received the _Impuratus_ curse, Ron pleasured himself until he’d brought himself to a silent, bone-melting orgasm.

Despite being fully clothed, Ron found it a bit daunting to meet Remus’ gaze out in the living room a while later. Remus appeared to think nothing of it. “You look particularly relaxed,” he said approvingly.

Ron swallowed back an embarrassed laugh.

“Here- lie down and I’ll look at your aura and see how it’s changed. That’s what the _Illuminous_ spell does, at its most basic level.”

“Oh. Right.” Ron did as requested, stretching out before the warm fireplace. “How will you know, though?” he asked, wriggling his toes. “You’ve never done this before. On me, I mean.”

“Actually, I did when I first found you, and each day at St. Mungo’s until you regained consciousness.”

“You did?”

“Yes. You were in terribly poor shape when I traced you to the woods, so I’m pleased that my invocations have been cathartic. You can close your eyes.”

Basking in Remus’ attention, Ron contentedly rested on the floor, feeling only a vague sensation around him as though Remus were somehow nudging at an invisible shadow. 

Remus made a few pleased noises. “Good. Yes, you’re almost rid of it now.”

Ron turned his head and opened his eyes to see Remus sitting on his heels, his wand still circling above Ron’s chest. “Something wrong?” he asked.

“No.” Remus sat pensively for a few seconds more before ending the spell. “Ron, did you have some questions you wanted to ask me? I don’t know much about Divination, and I’m certainly not one to read minds, but you’ve seemed uncharacteristically preoccupied. It may well be a side-effect of the curse; that wouldn’t be unexpected.”

Ron’s formerly quieted mind began racing. This was his chance. 

“Would you mind cutting my hair later on?”

Remus looked as startled as Ron felt having asked such an outlandish question. Evidently neither the _Impuratus_ nor its removal had done anything to improve Ron’s ability at thinking before speaking.

“Certainly,” Remus replied with some hesitancy, “though I can’t vouch for the outcome. I could wash it too, if you’d like. Having one’s scalp massaged is rather a luxury, and you’ve had little of that of late.”

“That’d be brilliant,” Ron said fervently, rising up onto his elbows. "You really don't mind?"

"No." Remus chuckled. "But let's have some dinner first." He rocked on to his heels, knees creaking as he did.

"I'll make it!" Ron exclaimed. "I'm not a bad cook, and you can write your daily letter to Mum." He scrambled to a standing position and strode to the kitchen.

"What makes you think I'm writing to Molly?" Remus asked after him, ambling to a worn, carved chair and tugging his cardigan off of it.

"Aren't you?" Ron was flabbergasted, and turned away from the pantry doors.

"Well, a few times, yes, but I didn't feel she needed a daily progress report." A droll expression flitted across Remus' honed features. "Thank you for offering to make our meal. Do you mind if I put on some music?"

"No. Fine with me." Ron focussed his attentions back on the task he'd decided to take on. Of course Remus would have all sorts of people to write. In fact, it was terrible form that Ron hadn't bothered to communicate with his mother, but then again, he'd figured that Remus had been doing so.

Over dinner they spoke a bit about the upcoming reinstated Quidditch World Cup finals, then about recent improvements to the wolfsbane potion. The full moon was four days away, and Ron had noticed some barely perceptible changes in Remus' demeanour. He would've volunteered to do almost anything to assist Remus during his change after all he had done for Ron. Ron's debt of gratitude was as tangible as the new skin growing around his healing scars, and while he'd thought of all sorts of sensual ways of payment, Ron suspected they would be declined — were he ever to offer them. 

When Remus had warily finished his dessert of snapping gingers, Ron set the dishes to washing themselves up.

“I’ll take a chair into the bathroom for you to sit in while I wash your hair,” Remus said, pushing away from the table. “The scissors are in the second drawer there on the right.”

“Thanks.” 

Ron made sure his spell was working the way he intended, as his magic had been somewhat wonky in the initial stages of his healing. Satisfied, he found the scissors and cast a sharpening charm on them. Remus looked up when Ron entered the room, glancing at the shears in Ron’s hand. Remus held what appeared to be a transfigured shower hose, spraying around the sink basin and tapping at it until the pressure was what he wished. 

“So you really do trust me as your coiffeur,” Remus said, turning off the water.

“My hair’s gone all shaggy.” Ron pulled his fingers through the ends to demonstrate. “You can only improve it.”

Remus’ eyebrows rose as he regarded the unkempt ponytail in which Ron usually kept his hair. “If you say so. From what I’ve seen in a few current magazines, your style is quite trendy.”

A flush started at Ron’s throat and threatened to rise to his face. “You can whack off a good couple of inches,” he said firmly, scooting the chair over until it bumped against the sink.

“Let me modify this just a little more,” Remus suggested, adding a dip to the edge so that Ron’s head could lie more comfortably against the porcelain. “That’s better.” He gestured to the seat cushion and Ron sat down, sprawling his legs out in front of him.

Once Remus began wetting his hair, Ron couldn’t keep his eyes open. The hot water was deftly run around his head, soaking his hair for a good minute before Remus turned off the tap. Ron became inundated with pleasurable sensations: the slight scrape of Remus’ fingernails as he lathered Ron’s scalp for several minutes, massaging the skin from his forehead to the base of his skull; the sandalwood scent of the shampoo he had chosen; the piney, masculine aroma that emanated from Remus himself as he leaned over the sink. 

“You’re brilliant at this,” Ron moaned gratefully.

Remus stroked his fingers along the skin behind Ron’s ear, pressing firmly. “I’ve had a little practise.”

Feeling utterly at ease, Ron decided to ask Remus one of the questions that had been gnawing at him for days. “D’you think you’d ever be interested in someone like me?”

There was an earthy chuckle as Remus turned the water on and began rinsing suds from Ron’s hair. “Ron, I don’t believe that there’s anyone else in the world quite like you.”

“You know what I mean.” Ron stretched his head into Remus’ strong hands.

“Well…” Remus paused, weighing his words. “You’ve become a very attractive young man.”

Ron made a disgruntled sound. "But you're not interested."

Remus didn't contradict him as he raked his fingers through Ron's hair. Ron felt deflated, and like an idiot for allowing his imagination to have had its jollies for days on end. The water stopped. Seconds later, Remus wrapped a towel around Ron's wet head and nudged his shoulder so he would sit up.

"It's not that," Remus said ponderously. "May I ask what possibly attracted you to me?" he asked while rubbing Ron's hair so it was no longer sopping.

"Well," Ron said, trying to overcome a flurry of optimism, "You're kind, and thoughtful, beyond intelligent, have bloody terrific stories to tell, your feet are sexy and you give the best head rubs ever."

The toweling slowed. "I'm incredibly flattered," Remus said before tossing the towel over the edge of the tub and retrieving a comb and scissors. "I think you're overlooking a key impediment, however."

Ron felt Remus tend to his tangles and carefully snip at the ends of his hair. "Age doesn't make _that_ much of a difference," Ron said petulantly. "And I bet there've been plenty of students and professors, or former professors, who've gotten together. Not that it matters. Let's pretend I never mentioned anything, okay?" He picked morosely at a hangnail on his thumb. 

There were a few quiet moments as Remus combed and cut. The cold blade rested against Ron's cheek while Remus angled it downward, shaping some of the fringey bits around Ron's face.

"Despite the kind things you’ve said about me, I am still a werewolf. That brings with it a very distinct set of challenges for anyone who would choose to be involved with me," he said, taking a last cut near Ron's jawbone. Remus sat down on the edge of the bathtub, gazing steadily at Ron, who could only stare in return. Ron thought Remus was overreacting; what with Wolfsbane and the fact that since the War werewolves had been given full privileges again, it practically didn’t matter. If only the cure had taken longer, he could’ve convinced Remus that he didn’t have any biases like that. There was so much he’d wanted to do while they were together: play hours of chess; ask him how he'd felt when he knew he favoured boys over girls. He wanted to feel against his mouth Remus' surprisingly full lips that chanted so beautifully…

"Would you care to join me for our nightcap? After you evaluate the damage I've done," Remus said with a wry smile.

Ron stood up and glanced at himself in the mirror. The trim was perfect, of course. "For a little bit," he agreed, brushing some stray pieces of hair off of his nose, adding to the scarlet mound on the tiled floor. "Reckon I may turn in early. Thanks heaps for doing this," he said appreciatively, pulling his still damp hair behind his ears. "Looks great."

"You're welcome." 

Ron heard Remus cast a cleaning spell as he wandered to the kitchen and poured their nightly glasses of Oban. He gave himself a splash more than usual. Out of habit, he peeled off his socks and set his feet parallel, warming the soles as he leaned against the couch. He was wandering in a menagerie of thoughts when Remus sat down next to him on the thin carpet.

"I think it's to be expected that you may be experiencing some unforeseen feelings," Remus said in a manner that brought back memories of an awkward conversation Ron had endured with his dad years ago.

"We really don't need to talk about this," Ron insisted. "I'll be going back to my job and regular life and you'll get back to everything you do. I'm an adult, and I feel all I've done is made an arse of myself."

The fire crackled cheerfully, making Ron feel irritable. He drank a healthy swallow of his scotch, trying not to think about his mundane life and how long it had been since he'd had a good shag. It’d been quite a while.

"There's a chance that you'll be more receptive to deep emotional bonds because of the _Unitas_ being applied so regularly." Remus put his glass on the floor, pulling in his ankles to sit cross-legged. "Not that you weren't before, of course." 

His voice was warm and compassionate. The crazy thought of wanting to crawl into Remus' lap and not leave flashed through Ron's thoughts before his rational mind censored it as ridiculous. Instead, he took another swig, finishing off his drink. He'd take some with him to bed.

"I rather think that you've been honest," Remus continued. "And I respect that."

Ron blinked, contradictory emotions swirling around him like snowflakes in a blizzard. "So you don't think I'm a nutter?" 

Remus looked bemusedly at him. "No, Ron, I don't. To be candid, I'm unsure about the possible level of bonding in the magic I've used to remove your curse. That being said, I've been involved in more complicated rituals than this, and you're the first to say that I have sexy feet." He raised an eyebrow, his lips quirking into a smile that made heat strike a coil in Ron's groin. "And I stand by my comment that you are a handsome, desirable young man." The erotic flame seemed to gutter and vanish in Remus' demeanour. "But I'm wary of acting on feelings that you have now, just in case they're an accidental side-effect of the _Unitas_. I don't feel it would benefit you, and you are still essentially my patient."

Ron decided to leave before the conversation needle turned any further along the compass to outright rejection. "Well, according to you, I'll be fully healed tomorrow. And somehow I doubt I'll suddenly stop thinking of you as an amazing person who has outrageously lickable ankles," he said, feigning nonchalance as he got up from the floor. "I'm gonna go look at Triple Q for a bit then climb in. See you later."

"Triple Q?"

" _Quagmire's Quidditch Quarterly_."

Remus nodded, running his long fingers through his hair, the predominant silver catching the glow of the firelight. Armed with a refilled tumbler, Ron ventured back to the guest room. He stripped down to his boxers, piled on two blankets and let his gaze roam over a few of the articles before he realised his eyelids were drooping. He tossed the magazine on the floor, turned off the table lamp and curled up into a foetal position. Eventually he fell asleep.

* * * * *

Soft, warm fingertips trailed down his ribcage. His earlobe was enveloped in slick heat before teeth gently nibbled on the sensitive skin. "Whuzzat?" Ron said hoarsely, his mind in a sleepy fog. His body seemed not to mind the unexpected waking, moving toward the source of the attention hips first. Lips kissed across his jawbone and a hand turned his face to the side. With effort, Ron opened his eyes to see Remus next to him, his pupils dilated and a hungry expression on his face.

"Remus- what?" Ron asked before his mouth was silenced with a fierce kiss. Remus' tongue sought entrance and with a moan, Ron opened his mouth, welcoming Remus as he slid his own tongue against Remus'. Ron kissed him fervently, claiming the hot cavern and grasping Remus' head in his hands.

"I’m lickable, you said," Remus rumbled against Ron's cheekbone in a throaty voice that sent a shock of desire straight to Ron's hard arousal.

"Merlin, yes," Ron groaned raggedly. “Sexiest feet and hands. Indecent. So unfair that you kept walking around barefoot.” Remus tugged on Ron's waistband. Ron hastily pulled the pants down his legs, letting out a hiss as Remus circled the tip of Ron's erection. He arched into Remus' touch, running his hand down the other man's back, skimming a terrain of scars and muscle until he held a firm arsecheek in his hand. 

"Let me focus on you," Remus said huskily, his hand closing around Ron's shaft. Ron lifted his hips up with a needy whimper, trying to press against Remus' pelvis.

"But I-"

"Shhhhhhhh." 

Remus encircled him at the base, then sent his talented fingers down to fondle at the soft skin underneath. Ron closed his eyes and lay on his back, legs thrown wide to succumb to the onslaught of Remus' skilled hands and mouth. It had been so long since anyone had touched him, Ron knew he wouldn't last long.

"Remus, Remus," he panted, driving into his lover's hand. "Can't wait. Oh Merlin, you feel so good," he said, nearly in tears with the intensity of tension in his cock. Just before his release poured out of him, Remus began sucking ferociously on Ron's neck, below his ear. Ron shouted, his orgasm a blinding spiral, thundering on and on. He kept his deathgrip on Remus' shoulder until the last pulsing aftershock had passed. As he slowly regained bodily awareness outside of his groin, Ron noticed that Remus was licking at the tender skin he'd been bruising.

"You're brilliant." With a shaky hand, Ron pulled Remus to him for a languorous kiss, reveling in the wet friction of their tongues. The overwhelming magnitude of physical and emotional surrender caught up with him and he shifted down on his side, clumsily using the sheet to dab at the stickiness on his belly before retrieving his boxers. "You really didn't mind?" he asked, looking for any signs of regret in Remus' hazel eyes.

"Not a bit. Here, let me hold you."

Ron turned his back to Remus, luxuriating in the other man's embrace. A twinge of guilt surfaced as he felt Remus' untended arousal against him, but before dropping off he decided to take care of that in the morning, if Remus would let him.

* * * * *

It was very early morning; stars sparkled against the black sky above a gauzy strip of gray on the horizon. Ron, awakened by his insistent bladder, muttered some profanity about the cold and shuffled quietly off to the bathroom. As he stood in the dark in front of the toilet, flashes of his intimate moments with Remus came to him. He'd have to take a look at the bruise on his neck later. Back in the cozy bed, he tentatively reached out a hand to touch Remus' wavy hair. Remus mumbled something that sounded like "Don't need any parchment" and turned on his side. Ron smiled, resisting the urge to snuggle next to him, and pulled the covers under his chin.

* * * * * 

There was a fragrant smell of tea when Ron woke up again. He stretched from his toes to his fingertips, feeling completely refreshed. He was alone in the bed, as he often was in the mornings. Looking across the room, he saw that a table had been set up with a teapot and cup and saucer. An envelope was perched next to the china. After pulling on some trousers and an ancient hand-knitted jumper, Ron poured himself a cup of tea and read the note.

_Dear Ron-_

_My apologies for not waking you, but you seemed to be sleeping soundly. I've received a summons from Minerva and will be gone for several days. You're only one cleansing from full recovery, and I have a last_ Unitas _held in a charger in the bathroom._

_Feel free to stay here for as long as you like, but I think it would be beneficial for you to return to your flat and the Ministry. You've been given a unique opportunity for new beginnings in your life, and I hope you take full advantage of it and keep an open mind about people and relationships that come your way, me in particular._

_I'll owl you as soon as I return from this mission._

_Yours fondly,_

_RJL_

Ron sipped at his tea, feeling absently at the spot on his neck where Remus had marked him. He found himself overly concerned about Remus' well-being, wondering where he'd gone, and what on earth had happened that McGonagall had deemed it necessary to fire call him. An irrepressible thrill frissoned through him as he remembered the former night's activities, tempered with fear for Remus' safety. It had been two years since the War ended; ruefully Ron acknowledged that in many ways, it might never be fully over.

Ron padded around the small house, his mind preoccupied. A glance out of the window showed that it was battering rain, so he opted against a last walk out to the ocean. Instead, Ron leisurely tidied up the house as he gathered his few belongings together, savouring the occasional woodsy _Remuscen_ t he encountered along the way. Once submerged in the tub for his final cleansing, he let his mind wander, leaping ahead to Remus' return. He hoped that things wouldn't be awkward. Ron knew he wasn't exactly charismatic, but he'd let his guard down in front of Remus, and he hadn't been ridiculed. He had a few bedroom skills of his own, and while a bit out of practise, he yearned for the opportunity to make Remus feel as brilliant as Ron had felt under Remus' touch. He swished his hands in the water, watching his pubic hair sway in the passing current. The scars on his arms were pale tracks now, but in some ways, he’d grown fond of them. They were a visual reminder of this unique event, maybe even a demarcation for an entirely new trajectory of his life.

And besides, Remus was covered in scars; Ron had noticed despite the dim light and feigning sleep some evenings when Remus put on his nightclothes. They didn’t make Remus any less desirable. With that thought, Ron reached over the tub to retrieve his wand, cast a heating charm on the cooling water, and spent some time tending to himself as he imagined what their reunion might be like. 

* * * * * * *

"I know you mean well, but what you're doing could be misconstrued as cheating," Remus admonished Ron half-heartedly.

"Look, if I can still concentrate on the board and I'm the one giving the massage, surely you're not really at a disadvantage," Ron cajoled, rubbing the ball of Remus' foot for emphasis. It had been Ron’s idea for a game of chess after their dinner, and Remus had enthusiastically agreed. Ron had been distracted by Remus’ bare feet, however, and offered to give them some attention.

"I'd rather focus on the lovely things you're doing to my feet. Mind if we resume this match later?" Remus looked pleadingly across the board, wriggling his toes in Ron's fingers.

"Not a bit, but I would like to keep it going," Ron said, kneading his thumbs into Remus' arches.

"Mmmmmm," Remus sighed contentedly, easing back further into his chair, his feet nestled in Ron's lap. "So would I. And more than just the chess, I mean," he said warmly, pressing his heels into the juncture of Ron's thighs.

Ron continued to rub circles across Remus' soles, shaking his head at his unbelievable good fortune. "Remus, you've no idea how much I want this to keep going." He clutched the slender toes, running his fingers down the top of Remus' furred feet. "That one night was brilliant, but what I'd really like…" his voice trailed off and he coloured slightly. "When it was just the two of us out there, alone, I spent days wondering what it would be like to kiss you. We did a little of that, that night, but I don't think I got the full effect."

"No, I’m certain you didn’t," Remus said. His voice took on a deeper quality that so affected Ron he needed to shift slightly in his chair. Remus pressed the soles of his feet against Ron's abdomen, looking possessively at him. "I'm so very flattered that you're attracted to me," Remus continued, taking one foot and slowly dragging it across Ron's growing arousal. "It's still a bit unbelievable, given our age difference, and I'm not exactly handsome-"

"You've no idea," Ron growled, pressing the foot against his groin. "Let's go sit down together, or something. I want to taste you, kiss you, properly." He gently tapped Remus' ankles, and the older man levered them out of Ron's lap and on to the floor.

"We're in your flat. Direct me," Remus suggested, threading his fingers through Ron's. The gesture affected Ron more intimately than he expected, and his heart seemed to trip in its rhythm.

"How about in front of the fire. It reminds me of - before," Ron said, his voice raspy with longing. They walked the few steps over to Ron's small couch, situated before a cheerful blaze in his equally small fireplace. Ron sat down on the carpet, pulling Remus down with him. For a few moments they sat in silence, backs against the couch, Ron reverently stroking Remus' palm.

"Come here, Ron," Remus said, the affection permeating his voice proving Ron's undoing.

With a muffled cry, Ron launched himself into Remus' lap. He straddled Remus' thighs, planting his hands on Remus' jaw, thumbs pressed to the prominent cheekbones. Remus gazed owlishly at him, his distinctive, golden eyes conveying equal parts amusement and desire. Ron licked his lips before leaning in. Lips parted, he hovered just next to Remus' mouth, taking short gasps of their shared air until he pressed his mouth to that of this man of whom he'd grown so fond.

They kissed hungrily, Remus cradling the back of Ron's head and sending his tongue into Ron's mouth. Ron eagerly slid his tongue against the welcome intruder, then explored Remus' mouth. Their tongues sparred and glided, teeth nipped and occasionally clacked together as their kisses deepened.

Ron adored kissing; he'd done enough snogging through the years to have rather high standards. Until this moment, however, none had compared to Wystan Bowerfind, a Ravenclaw two years his senior he'd spent some time with at the beginning of the War. Kissing Bowerfind literally had taken Ron's breath away. They'd done all sorts of other pleasurable activities as well, the experience no doubt heightened by the danger of potentially being killed at any moment. It had been as though Wystan's tongue was connected directly to Ron's cock, circumventing Ron's mind entirely in the process. Kissing Remus was just as powerful, if not more so, as the build-up had been weeks in the making. While emotionally vulnerable due to his trauma with the _Impuratus_ , as Ron's desire simmered in his groin, he felt supported; secure, even.

He broke away panting, gratefully seeing a flush on Remus' skin. "I want to make you feel so good, Remus." Ron fanned his fingers across Remus' forehead, stroking down his temples and back behind Remus' neck until they were clasped together. "Please say yes," he murmured, grinding his hips against Remus' and watching as Remus' eyes fluttered closed with a moan. "You're so sexy, and I don't just feel this way because of the damn curse. It's all that time we spent together. I physically ached when you left, you know that?"

“I hadn’t planned to leave so suddenly,” Remus apologised, nosing under Ron’s ear and planting a row of kisses against Ron’s jaw. “I missed you as well. It’d been a very long time since I’d shared a bed with anyone, but I got used to you, even looking forward to our chaste nights together.”

“I want this to be anything but chaste,” Ron pleaded, gripping Remus’ shoulder blades and leaning his head back to give Remus full access to his neck.

“Then I suggest we get some of these clothes out of the way.” The words were rumbled against Ron’s throat, a searing flash of lust racing to Ron’s erection.

“Gods, yes.”

Ron disrobed Remus with testosterone-driven fervour. Soon they were lying side by side, stretched out, wearing only their boxers. Keeping his gaze intently on Remus’ face, Ron gently pushed Remus on to his back before sprawling prone on top of the older man. 

“Am I too heavy?” Ron asked, aware that while similar in height, he had more muscled bulk.

“Not at all,” Remus reassured him, moving his hips slightly as evidence.

“Good,” Ron said, smirking when Remus let out a low sigh as Ron pressed their cloth-separated erections together. After that he needed no words. Ron kissed and laved Remus’ hard nipples, drowning in the rapturous torrents of sound spilling from Remus’ mouth. Ron vowed to spend more time in the future exploring every scar and secret pleasure point, but he’d had days for his fantasies to run amok. Remus was writhing under him now, and Ron wanted him naked. His hands slightly tremulous with pent-up desire, Ron pulled Remus’ plain white pants down and off his legs. For a moment Ron paused, studying the hard cock and tawny-silver curls at its base. Remus had a lot of grey hair which was slightly disconcerting, irrefutable evidence of their age gap and Remus’ condition. He slithered backward to sit between Remus’ legs on his heels, before bending forward to nose around the musky tangle of hair. Remus smelled like sex; like the woods at night, and the pine soap he used and irresistible _man_. Ron’s own arousal seemed inconsequential; he wanted to hear the moans and sounds of pleasure Remus would make when he was brought to climax. 

With his tongue Ron drew a wet trail up the underside of Remus’ shaft, reveling in the heavy breathing above him. After several teasing swipes around the tip, Ron opened his mouth and took as much of Remus’ cock as he could.

“Oh my god,” Remus gasped, his hands coming down to massage Ron’s bobbing head. “You feel incredible.”

Ron smiled around the slick flesh, swallowing some of the salty fluid even as a dribble of saliva slid down his chin. He sucked, nodding his head slightly as he relished the feeling of Remus' cock against the roof of his mouth. Ron didn't think that his fellatio skills were all that extraordinary, but he knew what a bloke or two had done for him to make his body turn to jelly. He sped up and slowed down, licked circles about the hot skin like a Muggle barber-pole stripe, and fondled the soft sacs with their short, crinkly hairs. Ron noticed the balls drawing up as Remus' adulations turned into a series of "Ohs," throaty and urgent, giving Ron a few seconds to prepare for the taste of his new lover's seed. 

Tangy, milkbitter fluid filled his mouth, not unpleasant, and expected. Unforeseen, however, was a sudden roaring that filled his ears. He was bowled over by a pulsing wave of gratitude and affection so visceral, Ron coughed and spluttered, pulling away from Remus' body to shake the noise out of his head. The rush of emotions faded and disappeared, leaving Ron confused and bereft. Remus lay panting on the floor, his chest heaving and face flushed. He held his arms wide as his breathing slowed and Ron wiped the back of his hand across his mouth.

"What was that?" Ron managed. "I've never felt anything like that before. Surely I didn't cause it…"

A sated, loving smile settled on Remus' lips. "I don’t think so, but you probably had to be receptive. I'm not entirely sure, but it seems our magic may have briefly coalesced, and we felt the overtones."

Despite being rather discombobulated, Ron's body began to demand attention. "Overtones?" Ron repeated, reaching into his boxers to take his cock in hand.

"I'll explain later. Please, allow me, if you will," Remus said longingly, his hand reaching out to tug at Ron's waistband. 

"Sure," Ron agreed. He pulled off his pants and lay down in front of Remus. Though a bit embarrassed, he spoke his mind. "You're such a brilliant kisser. I'd really like to do some more of that while you pull me off."

Remus' eyes sparked with mischief. "So you're not interested in a proper shag?"

"Remus," Ron moaned, his cock twitching at the thought. "Of course I am. But that takes lube, and preparation, and time." He pulled Remus in for a frantic, deep kiss before speaking again. "Whatever just happened's made me so close to coming; I just want to feel your hand on me, you kissing me, you here next to me." Inexplicably, a rogue tear rolled down Ron's cheek.

"Are you all right?" Remus asked, concerned, but beginning to stroke Ron's throbbing erection nonetheless.

"Yeah." Ron rubbed awkwardly at his face. "Dunnno what brought that on. Oh, that's so good, Remus, Merlin, so good."

Ron's mouth was branded by a searing kiss and he began thrusting in earnest, throwing an arm around Remus' back, attempting to plaster himself to as much of Remus' body as he could. His skin tingled, making up for those weeks of loathing, but yearning to be touched - now nothing was enough. When Remus slid a finger in Ron's entrance, he came with a shuddering cry, riding a wave of focused release. Subtly, over time the pops of the fire and Remus' soothing murmurs re-established the room around him. Ron opened his eyes.

"Was that okay?" Remus' fingers left Ron's quiescent cock. He wiped them on his narrow thigh before fanning them in the hair at Ron's chest, making small circles between his pectorals.

"Unreal." 

Comfortable quiet ebbed around them. After a time, the shoulder Ron was leaning on began to ache. “Want to lie down on the couch? I’ve got heaps of blankets.”

Remus nodded in assent, stretching backward to grab his wand before casting a _Scourgify_ on himself. Ron simply used his t-shirt and washed his hands while up and about. Returning to the couch, Ron noted it was longer and wider than before, with a very satisfied-looking Remus stretched unselfconsciously on it. Ron settled down on his stomach, his head on Remus’ shoulder, and an arm across Remus’ very furred torso. With a bit of tugging, Remus pulled the Chudley Cannon-orange hand-knitted afghan over them, though he kicked it off of his legs after a few seconds.

“Lycanthropy side-effect,” he explained, a resigned look on his face. “Fast metabolism, and I’m rather warm-natured.”

“So I’ve gathered,” Ron said, insinuating his leg between Remus’ knees. “We may not need this after all. Colour’s not everyone’s favourite, either,” he went on with a guilty smile.

“I couldn’t really tell you what shade it is,” Remus said, running his fingers through Ron’s hair. “I’m colour-blind. Another side-effect. I didn’t do very well in potions unless I had the help of someone else’s eyes.”

“Wish I’d had an excuse,” Ron muttered. “Oh well. So what was this about overtones and ruddy amazing sex?”

“Well, in essence, it comes down to this: everyone has a magical signature of sorts, a unique identifier. It’s how you can set up wards for an individual, because the elements of it can’t be duplicated, though I think there was a group of Death Eaters working on it at the end of the War.”

“Nothing would surprise me after that bloody curse I flew into,” Ron grumbled.

“Some of it can be charted with Arithmancy, and if you really want to get into it on a deep level, you have to study Abstrusology. It’s easier to describe it as a particular sound. Really powerful Wizards and Witches, when channeling their magic, are essentially sounding a vast chord with lots of levels of complexity, so much so that it can be felt by others. Even Muggles. But it also occurs in a less predictable way with erotic energy.”

“You mean just then I was doing sex magic?” Ron asked, awestruck. “It was only a blow job!”

Remus looked affronted. “Rather amazing blow job, Ron. But I’m pretty sure it was my magic that let loose, and yours was somehow it tune with it. Maybe it has to do with the energies I’d been focusing in your _Unitas_ es. Or just maybe,” he leaned down to place a soft kiss on Ron’s lips, “we’re a pretty decent pair of our own accord.” 

"I'm glad you were willing to give it a go." Ron stretched out his leg to rub his foot against Remus'. "Gotta tell you, you've got some hairy feet."

Remus cocked an eyebrow. "You've probably noticed I'm hairy in general."

"I like it," Ron said with a thread of a growl. "You're definitely a man. Hell, I've got hair on my back, not to mention bloody freckles everywhere."

"I don't believe I've had the pleasure of discovering every last one," Remus said, his voice again harbouring a promise of sex. "Mind if I do some exploring?" The last words were breathed into Ron's ear and he couldn't suppress his needy moan.

"Not at all. I'm a bit thirsty, though." He pressed his groin against Remus' thigh to indicate his stirring arousal. " _Accio_ that wicked scotch you brought and our glasses, will you?"

A few moments later, Ron proposed a toast. "To new beginnings."

"To new beginnings."

As he watched the glow of the firelight play on the creases at Remus' eyes, Ron sent a thought of gratitude to whatever force in the world had brought them together.

"I hope you'll stay the night," he said, leaning in to rest his and Remus' foreheads together. "I'm not much of a cook, but I make decent tea and eggs."

"My toast isn't too shabby," Remus rumbled against Ron's mouth. "I'd very much like that."

Their glasses were put aside as Ron lay back, reveling in sensual bliss as Remus kissed and claimed him. Ron felt a faint thrumming of affection, a hint of what he'd experienced before. He closed his eyes, surrendering to the erotic map Remus drew with his tongue, as though an enthusiastic cartographer of Ron's skin.

_Have to ask Hermione about Abstrusology,_ he thought before desire overtook him. With profound thanks, Ron allowed himself to be carried away into a sea of pleasure, Remus' name on his lips. 


End file.
